


INTERMISSION: The Swan and the Hawk

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Orphans, Kingdoms [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: “I like the way you think,” Michalis said approvingly.“I thought you hated me.”“Are hate and love not two sides of the same coin?”While Elice and company celebrate their victory, the Empire plans.
Relationships: Kamyu | Camus/Misheil | Michalis
Series: Orphans, Kingdoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566676
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	INTERMISSION: The Swan and the Hawk

Castle Medeus sat in the middle of the country, surrounded by miles of desert and itself surrounding the country’s biggest oasis. In true Dolhrian fashion, it was more a fortress than a palace, which suited its inhabitants just fine. It towered above the city of Dahia like a familiar but intimidating guardian, stern and stone-faced and unmoving, which suited perfectly the extremely important business that went on inside.

Dahia was at the epicenter of a growing empire, and thus about the safest place on the continent. Even Talys and Pyrathi, both countries too far away and with too little viable military for Emperor Medeus to consider worth taking over, still couldn’t let their guards down. Perhaps they weren’t worth a full war campaign, especially while the Empire was already facing more trouble than anticipated with Aurelis and Archanea joining forces, but they knew that they would be next, if Medeus succeeded. Dahia, though, was nestled comfortably behind stone bulwarks that protected from sandstorms as much as it did raiders, its people safe and its wealth secure. Dahia was, needless to say, a very proud city, and deserving of it— younger than Pales but just as determined to be a city of the ages, like a stubborn little sister.

Not that Michalis would admit that Dahia impressed him. He may have allied with Dolhr, but he was still Macedonian. He had his pride.

But for once, pride was one of the last things on his mind as he looked over the big map in the war room with the rest of Emperor Medeus’s generals. Emperor Titus Medeus himself sat at the head of the table, with his son, Imperial Prince Quintus, just to his right. To his left sat the Arcane Chancellor, a shriveled, magic-scarred husk of a man with graying skin and thinning hair, whose name Michalis could never remember. To the Chancellor’s left was King Jiol Hygarde of Grust, with his daughter Sheena beside him— Michalis had met both of them on multiple occasions. Beside her, a slimy-looking general named Morzas that the Emperor had put in charge of the Altean territory, and beside Morzas, unfortunately for him, was General Camus of Grust, standing in for King Ludwik Cygrenn. This brought it back around to Michalis, who sat next to Quintus. It was a table full of brilliance, as far as Michalis was concerned (though, obviously, he was the smartest).

The war meeting had just ended. Michalis nodded politely to people who made eye contact with him as they left, and then rested a hand on the back of his chair and looked to Camus.

“General,” he said.

Camus looked at Michalis like he wished he was dead in a ditch. “Your Majesty.”

Quintus cleared his throat as he pushed his chair in. “If the two of you are going to talk about your war machines, do take care not to take too long,” he said. “We all know how such talks can get… _heated_.”

Camus’s ears turned read. “Of course, your highness,” he promised.

“Oh, don’t worry, your highness,” Michalis told him, looking lasciviously at Quintus. “We’ll be good boys.”

Quintus smiled serenely. “I hate you,” he said.

“Then all is as it ought to be.”

Camus rubbed the bridge of his nose in disgust as Quintus left the room, leaving the two of them alone. He looked over at Michalis with contempt, almost like he knew how much Michalis liked that.

“I was discussing earlier, with Admiral Pax,” Michalis began. “The possibility of armored ships. Ships covered in metal plating, thus making them immune to ballista fire.”

Camus hummed. “They’d be heavy,” he said. “Can you really displace that much water?”

“Well, it’ll take some experimentation. But just imagine the possibilities, Camus.” He grinned, walking around the table to where Camus is, dragging his hand along the polished wood. "Rows of oars for if the sails go down. A hull that won’t need waterproofing.”

“Perhaps that’d open up the possibility for ballista mounted on ships,” Camus replied. “Macedon’s robust navy could only be improved.”

“I like the way you think,” Michalis said approvingly.

“I thought you hated me.”

“Are hate and love not two sides of the same coin?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Camus admitted. “Unfortunately. I know how you love being right.”

“Would you try to say otherwise?” Michalis asked. “Tell me, Camus.”

Camus stood, not nearly a match for Michalis in height but not letting that stop him. “I wish,” he said, his voice full of contempt that Michalis had always found so very, very tantalizing. “That just once, I could see the look on your face as you ate your words.”

Michalis chuckled. “General Camus, you certainly know a way to a man’s heart. I’d kiss you if I weren’t certain you’d get carried away.”

“Gods, shut up.”

“How about you make me?”

Camus glowered at him, but frustratingly, he did not. “Much as I would _like_ to see your mouth put to far better use, I’m afraid I haven’t the time today. His Majesty specifically told me not to waste time.”

Michalis put a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m a waste of time?”

“And space,” Camus agreed. “And breathing.”

“Oh, _do_ say more.”

“I hate you,” Camus said. “You are a disgrace of a man who bullies others to make himself feel larger, and yet gets off on being berated.”

“And this is why I love you, Camus,” Michalis replied. “You understand what I’m _really_ about.”

“I suppose someone had to make that sacrifice.”

“And you would know about sacrifice, wouldn’t you?”

Camus grabbed him by the cravat, anger blazing in his eyes. Few could look Michalis in the eye and not taste the business end of Ascalon, and of those, Camus was the only one for whom his glare was sweeter to Michalis than any gentle gaze. He’d always thought himself and Camus as kindred spirits— both peerless warriors, both representing small countries unafraid of innovation; both, by anyone’s account, frustratingly handsome. Perhaps Camus was not a king, but merely a knight, but Michalis could easily picture him upon a throne, a jeweled crown nestled in those blond curls. If this fantasy Camus had the same affection (because it was affection, in some non-traditional sense of the word) for Michalis that the Camus that stood before him did, then perhaps, Michalis would even kneel for him.

If he made him, that is.

“Ah,” Michalis observed. “I appear to have struck a nerve.”

Camus shoved him back. Michalis, like many Macedonians, was far bigger than Camus and couldn’t really be moved by such a shove, but Michalis allowed himself to move back anyway, as Camus pushed a hand through his hair and breathed through his teeth. Michalis felt somewhat put out. He didn’t normally tear himself away like that.

“Mm, you’re not yourself today, Camus,” Michalis pointed out. “Come, tell me what ails you. You can hardly perform in a way befitting of my rival if you’re so distracted.”

Camus scoffed. “Don’t say that like we’re friends.”

Pouring a glass of wine from the (very expensive, Macedon-made) bottle Quintus brought to every meeting that hardly anyone ever touched, Michalis only chuckled. “I would never dream of saying we’re friends, Camus. However, I know for a fact that I am your only option. Who else would you confess your worries to, pray tell? Your king? Your lieutenants? Prince Quintus?” Michalis scoffed.

Camus glared at him, but he took the glass of wine anyway. “This is bribery,” he said. He took a sip.

Michalis shrugged. “If it works, it works.”

“Well, if you’re so insistent,” Camus finally caved. “Do you know that scholar the Emperor always has with him? Gerald?”

“Garfield, I believe.”

“Yes, him.” Camus took another sip. “I don’t trust him. It’s none of my business, of course, who the Emperor chooses to have by his side,” he added quickly. “But something about that man seems very…”

“Slimy? Untrustworthy?”

“Along those lines, yes. Quite frankly, he makes me sick to my stomach just being near him. Perhaps he’s not shamelessly malicious like General Morzas—“ Michalis grimaced in agreement— “But that makes it worse. You know the Emperor listens to everything he says, and surely you've noticed how much King Jiol has been hanging on to his every word. It could mean very bad things, if he’s hiding his true intentions.”

Now that he mentioned it, Michalis didn’t trust him either. If it were any other time, if there were no need to ally Macedon with a conqueror (and the ruler of a country that had enslaved the Macedonian people a mere two generations ago, at that) to keep it from collapse, then perhaps Michalis would be saying the same.

“Of course, it’s not as if I can do anything about it,” Camus admitted. “But, there you have it. You did ask.”

“I did,” Michalis hummed. He poured himself a glass of wine, knocked it back like tavern rotgut, and then poured himself another. He sighed. “Much as I love the chance to be a part of a fledgeling empire, I do sometimes miss the days when my worries were of taxes and betrothals.”

“I wouldn’t think betrothals would’ve been a worry,” Camus commented. “When was it that Lady Lena dumped you?”

Michalis’s face soured. “Just after my father’s death. It _has_ been a few years between then and now. We may have been preparing for war, but I certainly wasn’t going to leave Macedon without an heir. And if I didn’t provide said heir, who would? My sisters?” He snorted. “Minerva’s of far more use to me on the battlefield than in the court, and Maria’s still a child herself.”

He took a sip of his wine. “Not that it did any good, given recent events.”

“Ah, you mean your sisters defecting and taking half of Macedon with them,” Camus pointed out. “You know, I can’t say I blame them.”

Michalis glowered. “That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Why do you think I said it?”

“ _Anyway_ ,” he said pointedly. “What’s done is done. I won’t chase Minerva down and beg her to come back. Her order is dissolved, her lieutenants are scattered across the continent, and the part of Macedon still loyal to me would spurn her if she tries. Whoever plans to desert Macedon to follow her will be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation.”

“What a way to speak of one’s family,” Camus commented. Michalis saw red.

He acted without thinking. He slammed his wine glass onto the war table with the loud crack of glass on wood. “Do not speak to _me_ of family, General Camus,” he hissed. “You know _nothing_. You cannot _hope_ to understand. For you, loyalty to your country and loyalty to your family are one and the same. You will _never_ know what it means to have to choose.”

He took a breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ruling means sacrifice, Camus,” he said. “I’ve known this all my life. I decided years ago that Macedon comes first. I will see it stand on its own two feet as a power in its own right, and if that means that my victory comes as I alone watch the rest of the world burn, if the people who once loved me curse my name as they go up in flames, then _so. Be. It.”_

Michalis would freely admit that he was many things, but when it came to his ambition, he was not a liar. Camus knew this, and the truth seemed to unsettle him. He didn’t say this. He didn’t have to.

If there was one way to ruin the mood, that was it. Michalis shook his head, downed his second glass of wine, and set the empty glass on the dish cart. “If you would excuse me, General,” he said curtly. “I must see to my navy. I expect King Jiol will need assistance in the Artemis Sea, even if he’s too much of a proud fool to admit it.”

He turned on his heel, his long hair and the tails of his coat swishing as he did, leaving Camus with the war map and half a bottle of wine. _So be it_ , he thought to himself. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need solace. All that mattered was bringing the war to a swift and merciful end— Camus or no Camus.

**Author's Note:**

> Up next- _XXI. A New Journey_


End file.
